


The Kübler-Ross Model

by staccato_ramble



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Character Study, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-15
Updated: 2012-12-15
Packaged: 2017-11-21 05:49:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staccato_ramble/pseuds/staccato_ramble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine Anderson dies on a Tuesday and what follows is nothing but fallout.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kübler-Ross Model

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt along the lines of 'show the result of a traumatic event without naming it'. Brief mention of child abuse in this chapter.

He had been seven or eight and still went by Johnny when he let out his first curse word and, subsequently, was caught and punished by his Aunt Junie. Junie liked to go to church at least once a day, if only so she could see who wasn't visiting as frequently, and was horrified when she overheard her nephew mutter "god damn it" when his baseball sailed over the neighbors fence.

It didn’t matter that he had learned the word from Aunt Junie's own son or how he cried when she yanked him into the house by the arm. She was set on punishing the boy and did so by scooping a cup of water from the toilet and forcing him to drink it all down. After one last warning about not being a potty mouth, Junie sent him back out into the yard, where his cousins were cursing up a storm. He wanted to cry about the injustice of it all or tattle, but he was too old for both, so he went to get the ball out of the other yard.

Now, everyone calls him John and Aunt Junie has been dead for years, but can count the number of curse words he ever said on one hand. Holding his cellphone loosely in one hand, John Anderson proceeds to scream every curse word until his throat is raw. The sound rattles around the small enclosure, shaking him to the bones just like the train will when it hurtles into the station in ten minutes. As it bounces off the walls, the sound is ugly to John's ears and, while the phantom taste of toilet water is filthy in his mouth, it worth it. He’s edging close to sixty, but feels sixteen when he releases the word "motherfucker" for the first time, twisted and sharp in the morning chill.

As he takes a moment to catch his breath, face hot and chest heaving, a little old lady comes shuffling onto his platform. Even though she settles onto a bench about five feet away, John takes a step to the side. There's no way she did hear his outburst and embarrassment burns hot in his belly. He feels like a child again, out of control and choking on the cloying scent of the old lady's perfume. The scent is that of cloying lilac, drifting across the platform and filling the air just the way Aunt Junie's used to. John chokes a little on it, throat seizing up from the smell.

When his phone buzzes in his hand, John jumps as if  he receives an electric shock instead of a text from his oldest son. It strange to think that Cooper is two years shy of forty because it seems like yesterday John was watching him graduate high school or teaching him to ride a bike or cradling a newborn to his chest in the maternity ward. His kid always had a terrific set of lungs on him, which is why it seemed so unnatural when Cooper was whispering on the phone earlier and Coop never did anything quietly, always wanted to steal the show and pushing his bro-

John's phone buzzes again, more urgent and insistent; a call this time. It’s his boy, Cooper, and John offers an apologetic smile to the old lady before taking the call because first he’s cursing and now he’s taking a private call in a public space. ("What did I teach you about manners?" Aunt Junie moans, horrified by his lack of etiquette even in the afterlife.)

"Hello, Cooper," John says, trying his best to sound pleasant even if it only for the old woman's benefit.

His son makes an odd sound over the line, hoarse and tinny. Later, they have to talk about the service provider that Coop is using, because it sounds like he’s going through a tunnel and John knows that his eldest has never been good with handling things like that. He was always the one to focus on the looks of the finished product, fumbling over the little details. By contrast, his younger brother would hyperfocused and wind up obsessing. They may both be grown, but John hopes that they still learn how to strike a balance one day. The devil may be in the details, but no one should lose sight of the forest because of the trees.

"Dad," Cooper says, still so quiet that John has to press the phone hard against his cheek, "You need to come home. Please."

"I'm just dropping some things off at the office and leaving instructions for my secretary. I'll be there as soon as possible."

It's mostly silence over the line then, nothing more than a steady buzz. For a moment, John thinks that Cooper has hung up, which makes his blood pressure jump a little. He made sure to teach his boys better than that. Both of his sons went through etiquette classes the summer before they started high school. A man is only as good as the reputation he has, a bit of Junie's wisdom he found fit to pass along.

Finally, a low groan on the other line both reassures and uneases John, because while Cooper isn't impolite enough to hang up on his father, he’s having some kind of fit by the sounds he making. John clears his throat once, twice and waits for it to pass. The tracks start to rattle, and there's a whistle in the distance, alerting him that the train is coming. The woman pulls herself off the bench and shuffles closer, spreading the smell of lilac all over again. He feels like throwing up, but he does have a change of clothes at his office, so it not a possibility. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, John settles into the voice he used whenever his kids were throwing tantrums.

"Coop, my train is almost here. Is it alright if I call you back from the office?"

"Oh, go fuck yourself," Cooper shoots back, back to his regular boom.

It reminds John vaguely of when his son had a stint on a crime show. Maria still has a recording of the episode, even though it was years ago, and Cooper only had a minor role. Now, he sounds like the lead detective when he had yelled at one of his underlings, "Things are serious, a man in a dress is dead!"

"Do you even give a shit about the fact that Kurt is in the fucking ICU?"

John takes a deep breath, suppressing the urge to lecture Cooper for swearing. His son is a man now and can talk just as crudely as he pleases. Keeping his voice level, he replies, "While I want him to get well quickly and plan on visiting once I'm back from the office, I'm sure that Kurt's family can handle it without me."

"We _are_ Kurt's family, you asshole!"

This time, there's no doubting the fact that Cooper has hung up on him and John has to take another deep, steadying breath. His son has always liked to use shock tactics, and he refuses to fall for that old trick. The train rumbles in and, when he helps her to her seat, John earns a smile from the old woman. It feels like forgiveness for his earlier rudeness and, even though the scent of lilac clings to his jacket, John returns the smile before snapping his paper open. There's no reason to acknowledge this morning is different in any way, unless he really wants it to go to hell.

("Language," Aunt Junie admonishes in the back of his mind, clicking her tongue and holding a glass menacingly.)


End file.
